Prose Fiction
by Zakhariahz
Summary: Masen always plays follow-the-leader with Jazz, his smart, rich friend who slums with him but when things get messed up and reality begins to pummel downward, he wishes it was all a bad novel. M for language, violence and some sexual content in l8r chs.
1. For Pinks Russian Roulette style

"_I want your heart, in other words. If you want to learn something, go to school." __–__Stephen King (Author__'__s Note before __**L.T.**__**'**__**s Theory of Pets**__ in __**Everything**__**'**__**s Eventual**__)_

_**Prose Fiction**_

_**Summary: **__Masen always plays follow-the-leader with Jazz, his smart, rich friend who slums with him but when things get messed up and reality begins to pummel downward, he wishes it was all a bad novel [gotta love me for being corny. ;D]_

_Rated: M_

_Characters: Jasper and Edward_

_Genre: Horror/Mystery_

_Chapter One: For Pinks [Russian Roulette style]_

If it's one story that the folk of this town love without question, it's the story of a blond kid named Jasper Whitlock. Ever heard of that one boy who walked like he owned the place, smiled like he dared the world to tell him not to, spoke like he was just what the doctor ordered? That's Jasper Whitlock to a 'T'. Before, he looked like a normal teenager; freckles, pimples, braces and typically shabby-looking. It was the Grunge ear, which kid didn't look like they hadn't bathed in days? He did what other teenage boys had and for everyone to see. He smoked pot, snorted crack, shot up at every party with that rest of us and always chased it all by pumping his cock into some chick too drunk to even care to tell him to stop. After he'd blown his load all over – not in, over – the girl's naked pussy, he'd say the same thing to me, "Eddie, my boy, learn well. The best fuck of your life comes from screwing unconscious girls so if you suck ass at it, you can pretend you're one master fucker and no one would know!" Now, Jasper had this heavy Texan drawl and it was pretty hard to understand when he had been shitfaced like that but, come to think of it, I wasn't any better off. So I'd nod and say each time, "Nah man, I like to hear 'em scream." Truth be told, I'd never understood what he'd meant. It just didn't make sense but who cared then? Not us. We did the same thing every weekend for three months, and then instead of Friday to Sunday, we went from Thursday to Monday. By the end of the 1990, we partied like Kurt Cobain every night and, by George Washington's Tic-Tac prick, it was beautiful.

"Edward," he slurred on night. Jasper had a principle against using out full first names if we even used them at all. He was adamant that our first names were what our parents called us instead of calling us 'mistakes' and he was a hard-ass about it, which I didn't get; he lived in a pricey neighbourood with parents that doted heavily on him. But I didn't get much of what he thought, now did I? He was a junkie philosopher and I was a junkie who happened to also be white trailer trash. "Edward," he slurred again, fighting to get up into a proper sitting position and knocking down a half-a-bottle of Miller. The piss-water soaked into my cheap-ass shag carpet. "How old are you?"

I looked at him funny. "What are you talking about?" I smacked the piece of stale gum I was chewing on.

"Stop smacking that fucking gum." I smacked it again before I responded, "I'm sixteen." I was a stubborn, little jackass; I smacked it again. "Why?"

"You're sixteen, I'm sixteen and everyone we get fucked with is sixteen. We're a bunch of little kids with big boys' toys. We don't know what we're doing. I mean, look at us." I took glances at our bleached out, hole-ridden jeans, our scuffed up shoes – his brand new Doc Martens that he studiously half-destroyed in a day and my duct-taped Chucks that I'd been wearing for three consecutive years – and our dirty band jerseys. "We look like shit. I haven't cut my hair in months." Jasper shook out his matted, chin-length locks. "My braces are broken and my gums are leaking fucking pus 'cause they got cut up and I didn't clean them. We look like shit." The broken armchair groaned when he got up from it. You could've imagined my surprise when he stripped off his jersey and straddled my lap. He was scrawny, his ribs sticking out and his collar bone pushing up sharp points under his skin, and his stomach was riddled with needle marks. "I'd say it was time we grew up, Edward." Jasper had this sinister smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that told you someone was up to no good but it was frightening, drying out my mouth and drawing perspiration across my brow and upper lip. I scratched nervously at the razor bumps on my cheek. "We're always playing men so I'd say it's time we manned-up." From behind his back, he procured a standard, single action revolver, flipping open the chambers to show me one bullet lodged in there. I counted seven chambers. "Ever heard of Russian Roulette?" I nodded, he grinned wider. "Great! Let's play!"

With a flick of his wrist, the chambers snapped back into place and when they spun like a dial on a phone, I prayed that it wasn't my number being called. 'Let him blow his own shit,' I thought savagely. Like he'd heard my thoughts, he frowned. "No, no, no," he chastised, "that won't do." He tucked away the revolver and pulled out a switchblade this rounds. "You're fucking kidding me," I whispered – well, whimpered – as my eyes followed the glint of the shitty fluorescents on the blade. "No, I think not." He was smiling again and familiar warmth pooled around my ass and legs. Only when he said, "You pissed in your pants?" did I realize that I was sitting in a puddle of my urine. "Close your eyes," he whispered close to my ear. The edge touched my happy trial. There was a pulling at my jersey. "Open your eyes, princess." My jersey was cut in half.

"You're a real shit," I growled, shoving his chest. He shrugged getting the gun again. He parted the cloth with the tip. "Ready?" he laughed and pushed the tip of the barrel hard into my crotch. I dared not say a word. I closed my eyes on his manically-distorted face, not wanting to look at that smile any longer and his empty blue doll-eyes. The hammer went click when he pulled it back. "What if this happens to be the bullet?" he taunted, pushing the gun deeper down into my now sore crotch, "What if I happen to blow that cock you're so proud of away? You know that's all you are, right? A free fuck. You're only as good as your cock and with it gone, do you know what you are?" My head snapped to the side under the impact of his hand. I was starting to hate this game even more. "Answer me," he commanded in a pleasant voice.

This was some weird Jerry Springer fuckery. "Nothing," I guessed and he affirmed it, "That's right, nothing." The hammer hit an empty chamber. "You've still got your balls. My turn." I wished that he'd blow his balls into next week Tuesday. This son of a bitch was asking for it at any rate so why not temp fate a bit. Shit…He grinned at me oddly, jamming the gun into my chest. It was quite a strange sight to see someone looking with such unparalleled disappointed frustration at a situation where they hadn't blown their hammer down to hell. The metal was gentler against my breastbone but not that comfortable either. You know all that shit people preach about in movies where they say their life flashes before their eyes as they're about die? It was the biggest load of bullshit ever dumped, straight from the animal's asshole. I couldn't see jack-shit, not even the fucking maniac sitting in my lap, but feel? Damn…I felt everything – and possibly more. My body felt like it was being compressed under the weight of this state of affairs, not painfully, but compressed all the same and – I had to give it a shot – I wished that I would just be compressed into nonexistence. I felt – or rather, re-felt – every emotion that I could've remembered throughout the duration of my miserable sixteen years; every laugh, every scream, the pleasure of shooting up and unconsciously realizing that heroin had to be, by far, my favourite druggie's vice. I felt the relief each time I got sexual release, the aggravation of it being built up. Everything; it was nothing short of everything. The click didn't really startle me or disturb me 'cause I felt right, that I was ready, that maybe, you know, some things have to happen and this just had to happen for me, for Jasper, because he probably needed whatever was going to come of this. I did feel, however, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when the hammer struck an empty barrel. It had nothing on his, but the disappointment was evident. I might've been a simple-minded boy who followed rather than leaded but I was smart enough to know that when things got dragged out, it stuck with you longer and it hurt twice as bad.

"You just won't die, will you?" he let out a long, hard laugh that annoyed me rather than chilled me this time but I fought off the urge to thrash him within an inch of his life. Maybe this would all go away and he'd be back to normal in a while, or maybe this was just some cruel joke he'd planned for me and the bullet ended up being a blank. I didn't understand Jasper before this and I didn't understand him like this but whatever was going on, I still harboured a small hope that he would be the same ol' Jazz Whitlock in the morning. "Maybe I will!" That boy gleamed with glee at the idea, greedily licking his lips as he cocked the gun and fired it all in the same speed. Nothing.

"A little eager there, aren't we Jasper?" I laughed dryly at his face, all screwed up with fury. His hand shot out and his fingers closed around my neck, pressing down against my trachea. I spluttered like a fucking fish and the douche laughed at me. "Hey, look, you're turning purple." Purple wasn't too bad a colour but I was dead sure it would look better on him. "Now, now, now, Edward, we need to see how this game finishes." He released me, forcefully, making sure to slam my goddam head into the hard-as-fuck head rest. I smelt the copper of blood. Jasper cocked his head to the side curiously, inhaling deeply. "May I?" Like he'd wait for permission. With small tremors twitching his fingers he reached around my head to smear some of my blood on his skin. Cocking the gun, he sniffed his fingers, eyes rolling up into his head like he was cumming. "From psycho to vampire all in a couple of minutes? Wow, Jazz, I'm pretty blown away," I goaded softly, "_Hey there, bipolar girl, take a ride on the Milky Way. Hey there, bipolar girl, take a ride on the Milky Way with me. On the Milky Way with me.__"_He bobbed in head in time with my voice, humming the melody we cooked up one sober evening. _"__They call you crazy bitch, you call me insecure, but one day soon, we__'__ll walk out that door- to the trumpet of our failure, to the drumming of our hearts, to a beat psychotic and things being torn apart." _I shut my mouth there, watching warily as he snapped out of it.

"Ok, so maybe you have a voice on you, Edward," Jasper admitted with a queer scowl, "but onto the next round, shall we?" The hammer clicked softer this time, probably because I was focusing on the song in my head. _"__Hey there, bipolar girl, take a ride on the Milky Way. Hey there, bipolar girl take a ride on the Milky Way with me. On the Milky Way with me. You might be sad and lonely, I__'__m lame and false, but one day soon, we__'__ll find our paths cross __–__ to the scream of past, the pulsing of our souls, to a beat so sadistic and things growing old. Hey there, bipolar girl, take a ride on the Milky Way. Hey there, bipolar girl, fake love on the Milky Way with me. On the Milky Way with me. Fake love.__"_"That's five empty chambers."

"Five empty chambers," I repeated dimly, nodding in agreement, "Who knows, Jasper, maybe this is your lucky bullet." He tired, honestly, he tried not to look like a snotty, little brat at Christmas, hoping for the biggest gift under the tree. He didn't move a quickly this time, cautiously turning the gun on himself and nestling it between his wanna-be-pecs. The gun clicked once then clicked again on an empty bullet. Fuck. Seven chambers, six empty. This was it. The last chamber; the loaded chamber. Well, I cried, I started crying like a kid, sniffling as tears stung my eyes – the sobs made their point to stick in my throat and I couldn't breathe, dry heaving, I cried harder for everything I had cried for, for things I hadn't, for almost forgotten unforgettable memories, for my past, my present and for Jasper. It was just one of those cries that purged you and I was sure I'd be as fine as a fiddler's fuck the next day but I didn't know that for a fact – nope, I didn't know that I'd wake up looking like ass the next day with the ugliest fucking bruises on my body and mangled fingers. I couldn't see shit through the waterworks and even Jasper's voice seemed far away. If I had been able to see him, however, I would've seen his insecurity and discomfort with the situation at hand. I would've seen him staring at the gun, probably trying to figure out who deserved the bullet; playing God.

"Edward, I know you're scared." He sounded tired and much more…sane. "You won't feel a thing really, you won't have time to register the pain but I want you to look at me. You have to wipe your eyes, stop crying and look at me." His fingers brushed away my tears almost roughly and awkwardly, slapping my cheek for good measure to make sure he had my attention. "Have you ever thought about how you'd go? 'Cause I haven't and I dunno if this." He waved the revolver around. "is befitting for anyone. I feel like Hitler, lining 'em up just to be shot down into some big trench. Do you think you'll fall into a trench or do you think you'll fly off through them pearly gates? You wanna know why falling in that trench is so much better than flying up there?" His eyes flickered up to my ceiling. Jasper sounded dead sober and his solemnity was, perhaps, slightly more appropriate for the situation but it rang with finality – the kind that shook your hand and pushed you through the doorway you were standing in. "When you fall in a trench and you're at the bottom, it's not like you can go any further, you're there already, right?" I nodded limply, feeling faintish. "It's the bottom. The end. Nothing goes lower than that but up there." I was pretty damn sure my dad was up there, what was so wrong about going up to him. We'd play ball and go running like we used to before he died. I was naïve and surely didn't know better. "Up there is where all the trouble begins. You fall and you fall hard. The likes of you and me weren't made for anything but trenches, Masen. When you fall from there, it's a long way down – a long painful way down. You willing to risk that?"

"I'd risk it for my dad."

"No, no, no, Edward Masen, not at all." He cocked the gun and leaned back so that he could stretch his arm all the way out, my head tipped back with the barrel angled down to rest flat and frigid on my heated forehead. "You see, I am Hitler and you're the Jew and it's the trenches for you." He cocked the gun bit by bit then grinned in an indolent manner and it was a sad thing to watch his eyes remain blank. "But you know what's the nice thing about being Hitler?" The gun felt slack and my nerves, pulled tight, frayed a bit more. "This."

He turned the gun on himself, pushed it up to his forehead and blew his brains out. He literally ejected out of my lap, sprawling back onto the floor and soaking the carpet through and through with blood and grey matter. It was everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, on the furniture, on me; the stench of death started to set in, making the blood look even creepier than it initially did. I looked everywhere except at the body of…except the body on the floor, the legs still propped up near mine. My eyes became painfully dry and the burned kind of like they did after a joint. I sat for a few minutes, staring dead ahead, letting the blood dry on everything, before I started shaking. It started at my fingers, then spread to all of me. I was fucking vibrating. The taste of cold metal and blood was heavy at the back of my throat – I had to get out of here. I unceremoniously kicked – yes, I kicked my best friend's stiff – Jasper's legs away and pelted out of the piece-of-shit I lived in, kicking the door halfway off of its rusted hinges. The night was deep, leaden and black – for lack of anything better. It was quiet, like it was waiting for something to scream. After all of that shit, it wasn't just a dream and it was definitely one of the most real things in my life. I hadn't pulled the trigger but I had still killed him. I had done something that lead to this point. Accepting your death was a completely different kettle of fish next to accepting that you killed your best friend – you know, the dude who beat the shit out of people for calling you poor even when you really are, who gets trashed with you and makes sure you're home first before going off, who tells you _everything_ about the girl they just banged and invites you to a threesome. You know, the dude who gives up his filthy rich lifestyles and all the money in the world, who dresses like a hobo and smells purposely like one, even though he's got a nice warm bath home, to make you feel like you belong somewhere. That guy; I killed him.

"What the fuck am I suppose to do now?"

I knew what I was going to do. I was going to go back into the tomb-on-wheels and clean it up. The bleach was under the sink and the bottle was yet to be used and opened – all of our cleaning things had taken residence under our sink, forsaken because my mother had always been too busy getting off to even bother to use them but I sat back down on the couch first, taking a good look at my partner-in-crime. Jasper had that look on his face that I could link with either brooding or day dreaming, depending on whether his mouth had these small quirks at the corners – up or down. For the first time, his mouth was just a thin straight line – flat-lined – and his eyes weren't even blue but, instead, black, even the whites. He had speckles of blood dotting his forehead and cheeks, even reaching as far as his neck and chest. His blond ras was absorbing the blood and staining itself a foggy orange.

"I sure as Hell hope this was what you wanted."

**AN: Ok, here****'****s a new story for you. I hope this one gets a better response than the rest. I****'****d like you all to know that OH STAR, NO OTHER LOVE COMPARES TO MINE is on a hiatus. Until when, I****'****m not sure. I****'****ll try to update my other stories as soon as possible. This was something I started nearer to the beginning of this month. Leave me some love.**


	2. The Comeback Kid

**AN: ok, well since I've got this nasty writer's block for all of my other stories – I think it's because this one is feeding off of all my inspiration – and this is the only thing I seem to be able to write – see proof of said feeding – I decided to write it and update whether or not I get a min of 5 reviews per ch. Here's ch 2 peep-les.**

**WARNING!: IF YOU CAN'T STAND MORBID THINGS OR TWISTEED THINGS PLEASE STOP READING AT THIS POINT. THE SHIT GETS WORSE FROM HERE.**

_Chapter Two: The Comeback Kid_

There was this patch of bush behind the trailer park where I knew for a fact no one ever visited after visiting for a regular basis to do something – or someone. So I dragged the stiff – I couldn't even call it 'Jasper' anymore – to this spot and went back for a shovel. It was pretty much no surprise to me when I found our shovel broken in half, leaving me no choice but to nick one from the landlord's tool shed. My muscles were pulled tight and tense as I held the shovel, my feet dragging purposefully through loose dirt; I probably fucked up the duct tape on my shoe. The body was laid out exactly as I had put it, face down in ground, unmoving even though paranoia was eating away at me, convincing me that it was going to get up and walk away. Corpses didn't do shit like that, right? "I need to get laid," I grumbled before thrusting the shovel deep into the earth, "Fuck." I could feel myself harden behind my zipper. Experimentally, I pulled out and thrust the shovel back down again. My hips bucked forward slightly and my eyes rolled back into my head. Could this thing have gotten any sicker? With slow, purposeful fingers, I released the buttons on my jeans, leaving them hanging open. My skin was burning up, slick with sweat and, oh fuck, did my dick ache. With a fevered madness, I thrust maniacally into the ground, digging and digging deeper down, my muscles straining with each full-shovel. My waistband stood away from my skin a bit and I could have felt my balls pulling tightening. "Oh, fuck it!" I stuck my hand savagely into my underwear and pulled out my cock, squeezing the sensitive head, now purple and swollen, veins hard rides on my shaft, making my pumping staccato. I was fucking sick but I jacked myself off harder, pivoting my head to look around at Jasper. My mouth hung open as I got closer and eventually I was fucking my own hand. "Aaaaahhhh…Fuckkkk…" It felt black inside of me but I spilt white into the shallow grave. "Oh shit, what the hell." Standing disoriented for a while with my flaccid cock that now felt like it was on fire hanging out of my pants, I looked down at the load I'd just blown as it was absorbed by the freshly turned soil. Everything felt like it was getting older around me, like it was all just deteriorating and leaving me to deal. Whenever I had gotten myself all depressed and shit, Jasper would have always said, _'Pull your shit together and move on. Shit happens, don't step in it but if do, wipe it off before it stains.' _"Yeah and your shit stained my fucking house!" I screamed at the body as I hastily righted my clothes, "Fuck you and your philosophies!" I kicked his body into what I deemed a fairly large hole and pelted the dirt I had removed originally. The rain started falling and I just felt dirtier, the mud melting in my fists, splattering on my clothing and my face. I had mud caked all over my face but Jasper's face wasn't covered yet. I threw and threw and threw but I could still see his vacuous eyes. With a tremendous roar, I flung a large handful at his face and funnily enough – not surprising, though – I could still feel them burning into me.

I hauled my ass into the trailer, mix the blood with the fresh mud, grabbed a bottle of jack from the cupboard and sat down in my own piss, looking around at the carnage and knowing that it'd all be fucking gone in the morning.

After my night with Jack, you could say I was a little loop. I staggered through the school gates, briefing in my swaying to backtrack to the days of staggering through this self-same gates with Jasper, only with a drunken version of our usual swagger, shades high in our noses. I had forgone the shades today and if you told me that I didn't look like shit, I'd call you a lying cunt - exact words and everything - but today there was enough commotion somewhere else to distract the masses from me. A familiar head of blond hair caught my burning eyes high above the bobbing heads of a congregation of girls. In this school, one piece of man-candy could turn the entire female population into a band of panting whores. They all wanted to be loved in some way or the other but in this time and in this town, being loved was euphemistic for being stuffed. Today, it wasn't as beautiful a thing as it had been before and I could've sworn on that prick's grave that he was dead when I last checked this morning. He lifted his head real slow, like he was going for an effect. I'd laugh if I wasn't ready to piss myself - again because of him. There, as bold and day and just as alive as you and me, Jasper stood with clean, shining white teeth, minus braces, looking by far cleaner that he usually did after he took a far-and-in-between baths, waving at me over to him with a lazy, effortless gesture that proved he wasn't some freaky, alien shit and, for a fact, Jazz Whitlock. If only I hadn't buried him, right? The girls didn't even turn to look at me but I was sure that if I'd really paid attention to them, I would've seen three dazed faces following the path of his hand. He called them his 'Muses' later on, just before the real deep shit began. Mary-Alice Brandon, a feisty, little pixie-look-alike with buzzed black hair and big hazel-brown eyes that got wider the deeper she took you down her throat was just on the outside of the crowd, latched onto the back of Rosalie Hale, a tall, curvy blonde with blue, *almond-eyes who liked it rough. I had known those two girls well actually. They had usually been the first to take someone upstairs and the last to get stoned. We had gotten mixed up in the wrong pot of chilli. The third face was Isabella Swan, an average-sized girl with shoulder-length hair and chocolate doe-eyes to match, not to mention perky tits that I got around to seeing later on. Her, I hadn't known so well at that point in time, always hiding out in the library or a classroom. I grimaced, dragging myself over to him, ignoring the girls who parted neatly when he snapped his fingers.

This dude was a complete one-eighty from Jazz. He was decked out in nice, new and probably designer jeans and Docs with a clean, pressed white button down and he even had perfect rectangular-folded sleeves. He ran his fingers through his newly cut and washed hair that curls around his ears and the base of his neck, pushing strays locks that had fallen onto his forehead, making the motion flow to stick out his hand for a shake. "Since when are you such a smooth bastard?" Automatically, I grabbed his hand.

"Like I said, it's high time we grow up," he laughed with a wink. It didn't come across as good-natured or conspiratory. It struck me as threatening and my hand went limp in his grasp. "And I see you've started. You smell like soap." In his mind, I thought he meant it as a compliment. I wondered morbidly if, in some sick way, he knew how vigorously I scrubbed myself that morning and the night before. "You're even wearing a new shirt." he punctuated the word 'shirt' with a light punch to my shoulder. "Did you steal it?" That arrogant fucker.

"No, my mother bought it with her last pay check." Both Jasper and I could've heard the tight curtness of my tone and I couldn't, for the life of me, fathom what was so terribly funny about that. After he had his laugh, he played with my collar, his finger tickling my neck and it took all I had not to swat his hand away as he smooth-talked some cute blonde girl. A brown haired chick bumped into my arm, turning frantically to apologize. Her hand alighted upon my arm, rubbing small, *soothing circles. Isabella rambled on apologetically, completely unaware - or at least I thought so at that time - that her tits were close enough to me so that her hard nipples - hard from either the weather or Jasper-hype - brushed lines on my shirt sleeve and chest as she breathed heavily from her minor embarrassment.

"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy, baby. No blood, no foul." She blushed prettily. I wanted to bite those *red-apple cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled one last time.

"Since you're so cute when you blush, I'll let it slide." Cute? Yeah, sure. Instant hard-on? Definitely. Her cheeks got redder, her flush going to her neck. She was a cute kid and it worked really well for the closet freak thing that I suspected she had going on, judging from the tight, fleece sweater without a bra that barely covered her ribs, the tiny plaid skirt that seemed even shorter as it clung by the virtue of a safety pin at her hips and the tall, hooker boots. She seemed awfully familiar from somewhere 'cause her face and tits seemed too fresh in my memory. Isabella fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment before saying in a real small voice, "I'll see you in biology," and walking away. Biology? Oh fuck. Biology! She was in Bio class and she sat behind the table I shared with Tyler, a fellow burn-out, alongside Jessica Stanley who obsessed with dudes fucking her tits. Isabella was locker-room talk and every boy wanted to bang that virgin twat. "She doesn't look like a virgin," mike had justified once, "but I hope she's tight like one." I could just turn around and look at her go over my shoulder…

"Right, Edward?"

"Huh?"

Jasper rolled his eyes exasperatedly, sighing and looking at the blonde like he wanted sympathy. "I'm sorry about Edward," he drawled, stretching his arm all around to haul me up against his side, "he can be so fucktarded at times, it's pathetic really. I was saying," he spoke even slower, " that this lovely vixen has a twin and they would like us to stop by later. Now, how does that sound?"

"It sounds like an orgy," I said with a crooked smile at blondie, playing it up for Jasper. She giggled at me. Fuck no. "But I'm working tonight." Jasper cocked an eyebrow at me so I threw in fro his benefit, "at Mrs. Cullen's, so you two better take care of my friend here." I patted Jasper's chest with a grin. The bell, fortunately, rang shrilly, calling all of us off to homeroom. Maintaining a small grin for a probable amount of time, I headed off, nodding to Jasper like nothing was off. He nodded back with that familiar grin from the old days that seemed too far away.

"Hey, Masen," Mary-Alice chimed, looping her arm through mine, Rosalie coming up on my other side.

"Hey, Mary. Hey, Rose."

"How's our favourite pimp doing?" I managed a laugh, recalling the one time I hooked them up with random dudes, freeing my arms to drape around their shoulders. They made it easy to laugh without forcing it and I found myself spending a fair amount of my time with them just to keep my feet on the ground.

"Yeah," Rose said, kissing my cheek noisily, "How are you? We've been worrying about you for the past few days."

"Oh?"

"You need to take it easy, you're going through." Mary had tears in her eyes and she looked undeniable. I stopped as the second bell rang - the bell for first period - and bent my face down to her, licking away her tears and kissing her sweetly on her mouth. Back then, they hadn't started wearing make-up yet and they never really needed it. I turned to Rose who was sniffling, her pouty lips quaking, and licked away her tears as well, rubbing my nose against her pink one before capturing her lips.

"I'll be fine, ok?" They nodded. "I'm taking Mrs. Cullen up on her offer, so I'll be starting to work for her today, which means?

"No parties?" Rose guessed. I smiled and winked at her, hauling both of them off to class. Mrs. Cullen had a really decent set-up waiting fro me, well, when I told her I was taking her up on her off that is. Aside from fucking and getting wasted, the only things I seemed to be good at were chemistry - well, that came with the drugs - and physics or at least the electrical aspect of it. Mrs. Cullen's bakery needed rewiring and she couldn't have afforded anything other than me right now. I'd decidedly blown her off, opting to play timmone and pumba with Jazz, instead, but I really needed to get my shit together ASAP and Mrs. Cullen appeared to be the ideal thing. She was a nice woman, always having one of my favourite custard cones ready and waiting for my grubby hands. The old girl had taken care of me once when I'd been a serious and my mother threw my sorry ass out onto the street. "You'll be seventeen in a few months, Masen, isn't it time you started behaving and taking care of you mum?" She'd said as she iced my fucked up lip, curtsey of my mother's current 'boyfriend' - now, I'd think 'sex toy' or 'mobile dildo' or maybe even 'greasy fuck' would be more appropriate. I hadn't answered her, instead choosing to hang my head and drip blood onto her hardwood flooring.

When I rolled into English class late with my girls, I realized that the class had multiplied and that the table for four where I usually sat alone or, occasionally, with some dude who either left early or never showed was inhabited y none other than Isabella Swan and a cute, sandy-blonde with a long model-body. This was a new development. I spotted Marry and Rose making their way over to a couple of their girlfriends, leaving me standing like a fucktard at the front of the class, alone.

"You wanna plant your ass somewhere, Masen?" Only Ms. Dales could've said something like that in this school and not shock the class into oblivion but they did all look up to snicker at me. Isabella didn't laugh but she blushed at me and turned to chastise her friend who was giggling but politely so. When I hadn't answered her or moved to sit, good ol' Dales designated a seat to me, right at my old table. "and if I see you pulling anything with those girls, you have two hours of detention this evening with me." Well, I wasn't that stunned so needless to say when I sat down at the table, even though it was cramped and my legs rubbed against hers on occasion, I didn't move. I sat there, thankfully unaffected through my jeans, watching a particularly ugly brown stain above the black board.

"As I was saying before I'd been interrupted," she paused to throw me a nasty look with her fiery eyes behind those funky, hippie glasses, "Mr. Kashmur is too hung over to come to school today so I get both classes. Since it's one of me against the lot of you, I want you to work with the people at your table."

I looked up sharply. "Sweet cheeks, tell me you're joking," I murmured under my breath, bouncing both of my legs. "Edward, stop that, please," Isabella asked me in a whisper, he body vibrating slightly. "Oh fuck, sorry."

"To compose an essay that answers the question on the blackboard. It's an open question so feel free to use a text of your choice. Preferably something that doesn't make me want to kill myself," she deadpanned, turning and going over to her desk. Dales stopped. "and gossip magazines are not applicable to this question." There actually were some stupid bitches who hung their heads at this. Isabella seemed excited, from the way she lit up, I guessed it was hard to miss the enthusiasm. I read the question, then read it again, hoping I hadn't read it correctly.

_From a text of your choice, highlight two character and;_

_[a] Discuss the relationship between them based on the following points;_

_-the conception of the relationship and te factors influencing the conception_

_-the nature of the relationship_

_-how it affects the characters_

_-a defining moment I the relationship_

_-the state the close of the novel finds the relationship in_

_[b] Discuss the effect of the relationship on a supporting character and analyze the reactions, drawing reference to the role played by him/her_

_[c] Analyze the setting of the novel and discuss how it sets the reader for the nature of the relationship._

I groaned and slumped forward into my chair violently, the sudden action of my movement knocking Isabella's legs to the side. "Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to hit you," I apologized hastily to the other girl's laughter.

"It's ok," Isabella replied breezily with a nice smile, waving me off, "so what book d'you wanna use for the queston? We can each suggest a book and decide from there." She wanted me to suggest a book - mind you the only literature I'd ever read had been raunchy magazines, a couple car mags and our reading list, yes, just the reading list.

"We could use *Timbuktu!" friend-chick blurted out abruptly, nearly flying out of her seat with zeal.

"Oh gosh, yes," Isabella enthused in agreement, "the specific species of the characters wasn't defined, it would be great! Whatcha thing, Masen?"

How should I have told her this? "I don't read." The girls looked at me oddly for a short moment, probably trying to figure out where to go from there with my useless ass.

"How fast can you read?"

"Sugar, did you not hear me?"

Isabella laughed good-naturedly, surprising us. "It now occurred to me that you don't know our names, Masen. I'm Isabella and she's Angela."

I grinned impishly at them both. "Oh, baby, I knew your name nut it's nice to meet you Angels." They absolutely simpered, flushing nicely. They were so green and lovely, ripe and ready to be picked. "But I still think that I'll call you sugar," I lifted my chin at Angela, "and you baby." I winked suggestively at Isabella, narrowing my eyes possessively at her, "'Cause you two sexy ladies are absolutely undeniable and you got my head spinning. Welcome to the Edward Masen Institution of American Babes. I'll be your *Player In a Management Position this semester but you can just call me your P.I.M.P." Well, if they were flushed before, they were almost fully coloured now. Isabella began fanning herself discreetly. With a smug, little grin, I took the book from Angela's stiff fingers and breezed through it, offering up my two cents as they wrote and once I was finished reading, we tailored what they had already written into what Angela had called a 'fairy-dust paper'. The bells rang, signalling the end f our double period, meeting us a couple sentences away from the end of our essay.

"Alright," Dales barked at us all, banging her duster on the desktop to grasp our attention, "I'll give you ten minutes to wrap up your shit and get it on my table. Put your names and the names of you teacher next to your name. I'll grade them and get them back you."

Well, I'd be a dirt liar if I said that I didn't feel really skippy about that paper - it was probably going to get a grade higher than my total grade since I'd been here and possibly my first A in my entire high school career. Hey, three cheers for the little trailer trash that could! A feeling settled over me, kind of like I was trying to float, like I was near weightless, like I'd actually done right by somebody. I felt accomplished. The girls asked me to wait to hand up our essay because the had actual classes and I had gym.

"Hey, Masen you're sure you don't mind, right?" Isabella fingered the button hole on my collar with her forefinger while the other digits seemed content to lay under the collar but I stood there being jealous of my buttonhole and wishing she was tickling my prostate instead.

"Of course, I'm sure. The coach lets us do whatever we want 'cause he's usually too busy fucking jailbait in his office." She blushed and I almost entertained the idea that the coach bent her over his desk.

"How do you know such things? How do you know they're true?" Her eyes were intent and her mouth was set in a soft pout that I was all too familiar with, having seen it on the mouth's of other girls but like the rest of them, I was different from the last. Each girl beautiful in their own right and Isabella was beautiful, her mouth quite red and, surely, cherry-flavoured from the smell of her cheap but yummy lip gloss. It would be entirely too funny to watch her react to the thought of me having a threesome with Jessica Stanley and the coach in exchange for him not flapping his gums about fact that he had found me smoking pot in the locker room.

"Well, I analized Jessica Stanley in his office chair while he pounded her so he wouldn't rat me out for smoking pot in the locker room," I grinned at her sheepishly, waiting for her to show a negative reaction but her face flushed in embarrassment at the graphic description. I swore I heard her mutter, "lucky bitch," but I couldn't be sure.

"Bella!" Angel called form the doorway, tapping her foot impatiently. With a small sad smile, she darted off with Angel, her skirt flapping around her…oh my fucking dog…bare ass. I had Biology today, right? Someone needed to tell me that I would be seeing that sweet ass again. With those tits and that ass…my boner was starting to ache.

"Masen, you gonna leave me that paper today or what?" Ms. Dales looked sexy as well today in the short cotton dress she'd chosen today. Maybe she'd help me out. She licked her lips suggestively like she guessed what I was thinking - or maybe my boner just gave it away. The class was pretty much empty, just me, Ms. Dales and God. "You know the drill, jailbait." Older women were funny like that. I mean, well, they always wanted control over the situation which was funny 'cause they pretty much ended up surrendering to me in the end. It was the law of the world; cocks had mystic control over women but I played along with her little games anyway - getting her angry never made the sex better, just more painful. My bag was still shoved under my chair so I went straight to her, leaning against the edge of the desk in front of her at her left side. She did what she usually did before we started - she took off her glasses and stored them in a desk draw. With surprisingly entle hands, she rubbed and squeezed my legs, pulling me to stand between her legs.

"Why are you looking like that?" she enquired, narrowing her eyes curiously. Could I have just sunk into them? They were big and orange and, to my honest astonishment, soft and caring.

"Beautiful," I whispered, splaying my fingers as tenderly as I could over the apple of her cheek, "You're so," I slipped my hand down her face, round her neck and hugged her to my stomach, "Beautiful."

"Why are you so sad?" she mumbled into my shirt.

"I'm just tired, honey." Lana - yes, that was her name. pretty, right? - drew away from my body and stood, climbing onto me and supporting her body with her knees on the desk behind us. Her lips descended on mine slowly. I made a muffled noise of confusion into her mouth. Her hips started to move in this lazy circle that hit my cock the right way each time. Send me to Hell 'cause all I thought of was Isabella and her little skirt, her kisses got stronger, going straight to my head - heads - and I could feel my eyes rolling back into my skull. Her little mewling and grunting as she thrust her hot little tongue into my mouth, as she chewed on my own mouth, as she blistered my lips, just drove me crazier and involuntarily - well, almost - my hips bucked into her pussy.

"Again," she moaned and I found myself dry-humping her. Like I could've told that skirt no. I repeated that in my mind when I stripped her down and lay her across the desk. I saw Ms. Dales but I heard Isabella and I fucked my best friend out of my system. Or at least that was what I was going for.

**AN:- there you go. If you stayed, thanks. If not, well…oh well. Peace, love and tequila shots. Leave me some reviews.**


	3. How Can I Put This

**AN:- ok, chapter three. I can't even get a decent amount of reviews and it's becoming very disheartening to write seeing as I can't really remember but I love those who put me on story alert and words that print this page are words I shall write for you lovelies. And, btw, I am so terribly sorry for such a long wait. Exams were brutal. Hope this chapter lives up to expectations.**

**Btw, a correction from ch1. It was a double action revolver.**

_Chapter Three: How Can I Put This?_

Lana and I righted ourselves in silence, not even looking at each other and this time, it wasn't normal. "Lana look-" I started then she cut me off with this look. Her dress wasn't fully back in place yet and her hair was a mess of tangles but she was still… "Beautiful." I found myself mumbling out, stumbling over to her to hold her lovely oval face in my calloused hands. That look still held its ground on her face, sad and somehow defeated, her eyebrows on the verge of knitting and her lips heavy with a solemn pout. "You're beautiful," I whispered again, hoping to get that fucking look off of her face but it just wouldn't go away. I, myself, found my eyebrows knitting together tightly, my gaze boring pleadingly into hers. Dammit, that woman's Alamance was a force to reckoned with.

"You know, I got into this arrangement to use and be used," she stated real quiet and grave, "but this is the one time that I've ever once felt as cheap and as dirty as that deal." Well, that went between my ribs cool, cool and deadly like a blade. She didn't even look at me with the anger I was now expecting - women got angry for every-fucking-thing - from what she had said or even look sad - fucking hormones - and, thankfully - because I was pretty sure Id come damn close to dying - she wasn't disappointed either. Lana looked just as she felt: used up. "Every time you pushed into me, I prayed it would be over soon. You were angry and everything was dark. I saw none of your usual spark." My fingers twitched violently then my hands went limp and fell away like dead. "You spilt something evil into me, Masen," she whispered, "Something evil and something terrible but the heart of it remains in you." I reeled back away from her, tumbling back into a table. It just couldn't have linked, you know. I had fucked my best friend into her, my memories and all of my hatred and while it seemed dark and twisted, maybe just downright disturbing and off-kilter, I couldn't have called him evil. Evil was not Jazz, not even as he were now, alive and breathing. Truth, I didn't know what the fuck to classify him as. It was to difficult to label him as anything other than Jasper 'cause that was exactly what he was. Not Jazz, not Whitlock, just Jasper. He turned out to be the stark opposite of what he preached which goes to show you that life was funny like that. "I don't think that we should do this again."

"Ok." My voice came out flat and depthless. Lana looked as she did before we 'romped' - her term, not mine - with the exception of a bright purple love bit on her neck. She probably was going to treat it so it wouldn't last as soon as she ran out the door. I was sitting, alone and half-naked, with my fly down when the bell rang, looking like hell. My shit, brain and belongings, was all over the place and I fumbled with everything: my belt buckle, my bag, the doorknob, I even ran into some girl by accident instead of 'by accident' to cop a feel. I partied like a rock star and, from the look of things, I crashed like one too. This couldn't be real. There was no fucking way this was real. People didn't come back from the dead, I didn't voodoo fuck women and I don't lose it like this. Ever.

"Masen!"

Don't pass out, just don't.

"Hey, Masen!"

The room swam in and out of focus in neat, little intervals to the straining of Metallica somewhere in my mind. Insanity had a theme song? Then that fucking flash-before-your-eyes shit happened again, shrieking in a rush of coherent nonsense and it began building up in me again, fast and hot, hard and throbbing. "Fuck me," I ground out, hanging my head to see Isabella in front of me, panting, her cheeks flushed. Oh shit, had she heard me?

"Um, hi," she squeaked, still breathing heavily and, shit, that wasn't helping, "I just, uh, wanted to tell you that Mr. Banner had some stuff to do so the entire class moved to the library. We could go there or we could go to the lab. It's quieter." Now, I knew I wasn't the brightest but I'm sure she just said that there's a place quieter than the library. Did she just sound hopeful? Her face grew serious and I all but slapped myself at the sudden change. You know, living with a mother who flipped faster than a light switch, I'd hope that I'd grown use to hormonal as fuck women. She stretched towards me out of nowhere and it didn't slip my notice that her tease of a sweater pulled up her chest when she raised her hand. She was, maybe, a couple millimetres from indecent exposure. A couple boys - 'fucktarded apes who thought with their thumb-sized cocks' seemed better - wolf-whistled and even went so far as to pinch the base of her ass but she barely flinched from their bullshit. I managed to deck the one that pinched her sweetly, probably giving him a nice shiner. The little fucker yelped and ran off and I thanked fuck it wasn't a senior. My shit usually only worked on the younger bucks and the older dorks, not the one's who play the game, like me. Isabella pulled my hair, probably as punishment. Fuck, could she do that shit again? She showed me a piece of paper.

"Let's go to the library." Her face fell, I was sure I didn't imagine it. "You can tutor me, baby."

"Ok," she conceded, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. That thing was determined to haunt my ass. "but I have an assignment to finish up."

"'S ok." I walked behind her, politely letting her lead the way, it having nothing to do with the way her skirt flapped up. Biology needed to be as sexless and as interesting as possible today but, then again, was it ever?

Did God hate me? The library was filled to the brim and overflowing with people, stacked on top of the other like Jenga blocks. On chairs, on tables, some wrapped around others like a pretzel or an extremely large orgy. Bella stood tip-toed, craning and straining in a search for a free table. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, I rolled my eyes and scooped her little ass up, balancing her on forearm and wrapping the other one round her chest for support. Fucking A! She was drenched and dripping onto my arm. Her hot, little pussy burned on my flesh and shot some grade-A horndog sensations up my arm.

"Can you see now, baby?" I asked close to her ear, licking my cracked up lips. My breath tickled her ear and she giggled.

"Yes, Masen." And, shit, if that little "Yes, Masen" thing she had going on wasn't adorable as hell. I hummed contentedly in the back of my throat and licked, languidly, the sticky trail of sweat beneath her ear. She tasted like fresh fruits and cherry pie, sweet and sexy. I didn't know if I should eat her, fuck her or both. Then I felt her chest heaving around my arm, her tits rubbing through her sweater and - fuck me - she got wetter. I felt like a royal dickhead. She was a virgin and I wouldn't care if it wasn't her. She played up the innocence but you never really knew. She seemed like a really sweet girl. I mean, Isabella flaunted her shit and it was really no big secret that she wanted me but she didn't treat me like a first-class piece of ass. No. She treated me like I was a person. I mean, she was even going out of her way to tutor me when the teachers didn't even care anymore. High school was really funny like that. I set her down as gently and as quickly as I could, offering an awkward smile when she looked up at me with those damn eyes. That was gold right there. If she could bottle that puppy dog stare and sell, she'd be rolling in cash. Her stuff was smeared on my skin, clumping my hair but I ignored it and nodded at her. I looked at all of the boys staring at her with that 'love her and leave her' look as she guided me to the table and it pissed me the fuck off. I put a hand on the small of her back in the only way an over-protective older brother with a sister complex could as we walked. I really liked her in an unromantic way, aside from the fact that I wanted to fuck her and for the same reasons I wouldn't fuck her, I protected her.. As soon as we stopped at the table, I pulled out a fade blue, moth-eaten hooded sweater for her. I thrust it in her direction. Maybe I shouldn't thrust anything in her direction. She looked at it, confused and I didn't know if to laugh or show her how to work the zip-up.

I shrugged. "I didn't like the way those nasty fuckers were looking at you." I leaned in so that it was closer to her. You could've shaved my ass, spanked me and called me 'pumpkin' if I was wrong but I swore that she lit up like a fucking bulb. Isabella took it gently and slipped her arms through the sleeves. I zipped it all the way up and folded the bitten up cuffs a good way before her slim fingers made an appearance. She wiggled them as they came into view.

"Thank you, Masen." I looked her over approvingly. The sweater hung all the way past her knees so basically none of her flesh was to be seen. Excellent. Her smile had it's own wattage. Isabella wasted no time delving into the gruesome task of tutoring my sorry ass.

"Can I see your notebook?" she asked sweetly, her hand outstretched, palm up. Grudgingly, I handed it over, resting my chin on my folded arms on the desk. My chin hurt from the sores I'd scratched up there. My mother always told me I was a little shit for scratching 'em up. She'd say, "All you're worth is your face, son." Like she had any right to call me 'son' after choosing the world's biggest shit-hole with the universe's smallest dick over me. "We're the beautiful people 'round here, baby boy, even though we got nothin' so take care of it. Don't scratch those fucking bumps no matter how much they itch." It was sad to say that that was the most 'advice' my mother had given me, useful second only to her instructions on how to work 'the love button' as her fuckwad plaything called it and how to work a bra clasp 'cause every man knows those things are annoying, second only to women. Isabella flipped through the empty book like there was the secret of the universe written on them pages and I had to hand it to her, she was like a saint or something. Never a bad word out of her mouth, this one.

"Someone's been naughty," she chided with a round of giggles, wagging her finger in front of my face. I snapped at it playfully, making her squeal and giggle even harder like a kid. Wasn't she just the cutest thing? "What have you been doing in Bio?" She'd sat behind me ever since we started high school Bio, she should've known that I either slept through the thing or skipped it on the whole. "Wait, no, don't tell me. I know already." Her grin was playfully accusatory but it wasn't half bad. I could handle playful.

"Edward!" I cringed so damn low it was a wonder I wasn't kneeling the fuck down. Rushing off to classes and hiding out in the library like a pussy with Isabella, trying not to think about hers under that skirt, I'd done my best to avoid Jasper whole day. His footsteps weren't heavy but I could hear them fancy shoes taping against the black top as he picked his way through his throngs of sluts to me and my back 'cause over his fucking non-dead or undead - whatever the hell he was - was I turning around and addressing him properly. My fingers twanged with fear at the thought of another night like the last.

Fuck no, bitch.

"Hello, Edward," he drawled, long and slow like he had to play it up for me, shit-eating grin firmly fixed on his face. I glared steadily at his grin then my face relaxed into confusion. When we had been thirteen, probably now shifting on over to fourteen, we'd gone off behind my trailer to smoke our first joint. I'd found the shit in my mother's purse and I'd remembered how I'd seen her do it the night before. God and any other bastard knew that it hadn't taken us more than five minutes to get shit-faced. We had been kids. Somehow, between giggling uncontrollably and cussing Jesus like we had had a reason to cuss Jesus, we had ended up fighting and I'd wound up and had popped Jazz good and proper on his jaw. It was hard not to remember the fall he had taken down a small cliff off to our right. After I'd pulled him up, he'd cussed me and had said, "You nasty fucker! You ripped up my chin! Clean it now, bitch!" Well, I had been thirteen, moving on over to fourteen and I'd been high, so I had popped him nicely again, sending him stumbling to fall onto his ass. It had left a distinct scar when it had healed on his chin but now, it wasn't even there. Almost like it had never happened to begin with. The sick bastard laughed at the first thing that flew out of my mouth.

"Fuck off."

"Now, don't be like that, darlin'." He fell into step beside my frantic stalking, hands dipped deep in his pockets. It was those jeans - I didn't know why I noticed it now or ever, for that matter - that took about a shit-load of wear and laundry to begin to breathe, the kind he had spent a better part of last year griping about. "I was just catching up with you to see if you wanted a ride over to Esme's."

My laugh sounded dry and derisive and he caught it with a dismissive shake of his head. "I'll walk." I knew it would take more to shake him but I was too worn out, too shaken and too fucking insane to make a great effort into pushing him away. _I need to check that grave._

"What grave?" Jasper sneered, grabbing my shoulder and stopping me. My eyes widened to a whole new size as I was jerked back. "Someone died, Edward?" He dared me to say something with that crooked smirk, looking like the devil had kicked his lips to the side. Transfixed, I gaped at his pulsing pupil and, subconsciously, lifted a hand to hold it over my pummelling heart. They pulsated together, growing, getting bigger, suffocating my lungs, killing his baby blues until I couldn't breathe, until he looked dead. I swore his grip tightened little by little and, sure enough, his hand was fisted in the sleeve of my button down. "'Cause I'm pretty sure you didn't mention anything about it this morning." He shrugged, nonchalant, releasing his vice grip and flicking a piece of something off my shoulder. "Now that I think about, you didn't seem banged up about anything this morning either." That *lying cunt - yes, I was true to my word. Somewhere off to the left of disbelief, my inner dumbfuck registered the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Jasper held me with them coal black eyes, like a snake, then he struck, gripping me hard behind my neck. We started walking again. "I mean, sure, you looked stale drunk but not in any state of mourning." He was playing with me and, shit, it was working like his Grand-daddy's lucky rabbit foot during hunting season. His movements were exaggerated, sarcastic, and what better setting than to the growling of thunder? The white on his shirt started looking like grey and not just any grey, a sordid, nasty grey that you get after not washing white close for weeks - I would know. The first raindrop fell hard on my cheek the same time he shook his head as if to clear it, like a fat tear but it felt thicker than water, warmer too. "Whose grave, Edward?" One fell on my shoulder and I looked at it.

Blood.

Fucking blood!

The fingers curled behind my neck dug into my flesh, biting to tear out my spine from behind. "Fuck," I hissed at the creaking of my vertebrae and looked over at him. Blood was raining from a depression in the middle of his forehead. Down into his eye, like tears, long the sides of his nose, it just poured. "You're dead!"

"Am I?" I sobered the fuck up when I saw the look in his eyes. Crimson pupils contracted and expanded - his heart was beating in his stare, pushing more blood out and over the rim - smack dab in the middle of slabs of pitch-coloured amusement. You had to have known that feeling that you get right before you went and did something so utterly stupid that you want to beat yourself within an inch of your life if you fucking survive. That feeling that made you feel invincible and brave enough to just go ahead and push the red button. Yeah, I was feeling it.

I drew myself up to glare at him levelly and I could've almost heard Jazz in the back of my mind. _'Oh, Masen finally grew some backbone! I'm about to piss my fucking pants in fright.' _Then he'd sure as hell laugh before he threw in another something. '_T hat's good. More backbone or balls or what-the-fuck-ever means there's more trouble to be done and more fun to be had.'_ "Yeah, you are. I blew my load in your grave then kicked your stiff in."

***'lying cunt':- reference from ch 2 where he first got to school and claimed that he looked like shit after spending the night with Jack and cleaning.**

**AN:-**** for those reading (PLEASE LET THERE BE SOEMONE READING!) sorry about the cliffy and for the long time it took me to update. Please review.**


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